A Vision of the Future
Summary: (June 2031) Smokestack is certainly a mech that has an affinity for either technology or debate. Or both. Landing Fields EDC Walking out from the hangar bay, you are struck by the sheer size of the landing fields. Many craft, of all types, arrive and depart constantly. The image of the chaotic control tower comes to mind, and you are glad not to be there. Several craft are being towed into and out of the massive hangar bays, and through the hangar doors you can see fighters and other ships in various stages of maintenance. Looking around, you are amazed that none of the uproar here can be heard in the park. Contents: Exo-Suit Salamander Witwicky Spike Witwicky Terran Shuttle Intrepid Terran Shuttle Briar Obvious exits: Launch leads to Earth Orbit. Fly Up leads to Sky over San Francisco. East E leads to Hangar Bay EDC. The sky is reddish-pink as the sun begins to set over the huge landing field. Not many humans are about, and the ones that are present are scattered and working on the numorous, sizable aircraft powered down. They'd make for decent cover, as would the hangar bays that Spike is near, working on an exo-armor's jet mode. Once again, Smokestack is trying to sneak around. He really needs to take up a better hobby because he’s a terrible shape for this. Still, determination and the ability not to go on a rampage the minute he sees a hostile combatant is helping, and he’s pulled up behind a hanger. His smoke and steam choked off and fed into internal tanks, he slowly rolls forward around a corner to get a better view of the exo armour being altered. Like the tank suit he observed before, it transforms. Unlike the tank, he recognises certain marks on this particular one. Either all of them come with standardised scrape marks, or this was the one he assaulted when the train was stolen. Hrm. For a huge train mech, Smokestack goes unnoticed rather easily. Before long it's just Spike on the field, and he is none-the-wiser, splayed beneath the jet and constantly spattering himself with oil. You'd think he'd have learned how to dodge it by now. It is indeed the craft used to help stave off the 'cons in the East. Smokestack takes his time scanning the suit, making several high resolution images of it when it’s nice and stationary. That done, it’s time for decisions to be made. There’s only so much he can tell from these long distance scans, and what he has is as good as it’s going to get. What he needs is to look at the technology... close up. What he needs is to lure the pilot. Risky, but not as risky as entering the centre apron of the airport. His whistle blows, a single piercing note that ought to be fairly familiar to the pilot, what with it being the sound he made just before he ran Spike’s armour over the last time they met. Moving slowly enough to be spotted, he slowly withdraws behind the hanger. Andi Lassiter is not out on the tarmac so is not within eyeshot of Spike and his exo or the snooping Decepticon. She's inside the hangar, having stopped to talk with Sam. Spike Witwicky nearly smacks his forehead on the open hatch when he hears the whistle. Train whistle. There is the occasional railroad train that chugs in the distance, but this is a little too close for comfort. He slides out from under the jet and makes his way to the corner of the hangar. Sam is also inside the hangar -- just inside really, with one of the big doors open so that a jet of some sort can roll out once it's passed inspection. He's climbed down from a wing to see what Andi needs. Around the corner, directly in front of Spike, the towering black faceplate of the locomotive reaches into the sky. The deeply incised Decepticon symbol in the centre of the circular plate above the guard leaves utterly no doubt as to the outsize train’s identity. Releasing his internal buffers, smoke begins to pour from his twin stacks and he rumbles “Do not move, and you have a vastly improved chance of surviving this conversation.” Andi Lassiter smiles a hello to Sam and doesn't beat around the bush. "Hey, sorry to bother you. Did the requisition for the power converters I sent get to you?" She stops and looks out of the open hangar door at the train whistle. It really isn't that odd, but she's not used to hearing it quite THAT clearly. Spike Witwicky freezes on the spot, wide-eyed. His hand drifts slowly for the pistol on his belt, but he dare not pull it out. "Well look who came to visit," he murmurs. "I didn't take you for the spy-type. What do you want?" Sam pulls out his noise-cancelling earplugs. "Hmm?" he asks. "Oh.. y.." he stops as Andi abruptly turns away. "Er.." The steeply peaked lamp atop the central boiler flickers with his deep voiced words, the train inching forwards just a little to underline them. “If you panic and scream for assistance, or if you run, you have an excellent chance of causing me difficulty. Autobots will respond, and some of those suits you possess will no doubt cause me further trouble. I might be damaged, and I would likely have to retreat. However, I will certainly have the time to burn down half of this airfield before I leave, causing untold damage, likely killing several of your people, and I believe I will have an excellent chance of killing you. The alternative is staying calm and answering my very reasonable questions. Choose.” Spike Witwicky can only glare for a moment, flexing his fingers. But finally he straightens and heaves a small, silent sigh. "Hrm, yeah, I'm sure you're a /very/ reasonable mech," he replies with no small amount of sarcasm. "Seeing as I'd rather keep the base intact, I choose the latter." Andi Lassiter takes a step or two toward the open doorway. "Did you hear that, Sam? It was a train whistle, but too close to be the Coastal Pacific line that runs by the base." Sam shakes his head. "Train? No. Er.. perhaps pneumatic tools? Similar.. er.. somewhat." Andi Lassiter shakes her head no. "I can tell the difference." She isn't aware that that is because her hearing hasn't been human normal for several years now. Walking briskly out of the hangar bay, she looks around and then frowns again at a rather odd shadow pattern on the concrete next to the building. She looks back at Sam, then heads toward the shadow. Sam gives Andi an odd look, then hops the rest of the way down the ladder on the jet and jogs along after. "What is it?" he wonders A faint note of amusement enters the locomotive's voice. "The side you perceive as your own has no monopoly on reason.” About to continue, Smokestack paused at the sound of footsteps and voices. He sighed with an extra gust of smoke from his stacks and raised his voice, saying in civil tones “Don’t loiter around there. Come and join the conversation.” Fusillade says, "Decepticons, report current location and status." Smokestack says, "Scouting enemy position. Minimal broadcasting." Coldwar says, "Finishing AAR in grid Alpha starport- Over." Windshear says, "About to leave the repair bay -- main earth base, status; fully functional." Boomslang says, "RTB from weapon trials. What's up?" Fusillade chuckles throatily. "Nothing, yet." Cybertronian harmonics in that voice, as well as a tone of smug superiority. Maybe. Either way, she just KNOWS that what's around the corner does NOT bode well. But still she steps around the corner of the building to look up at a Decepticon she's not familiar with. Crap. She puts on a brave face, though, and her sternest school-marm glare. "I don't know what you expect to gain by coming here, but I strongly recommend you leave. Now." The black iron train’s headlamp flashes on fully, regarding Andi. “Your companion understands. I would prefer not to repeat myself unnecessarily. In summary: cooperate and converse, or we will see how much damage I can cause before I retreat. I suspect it to be considerable. Now. Your armoured suit, and the other varieties I have observed. I wish to know what extent it is based on cybertronian technology. Directly based, on technology that has been reverse engineered from or donated by your allies." Sam steps out as well, wiping his hands on a rag hanging from his belt. "Do not appear constructed for espionage, Decepticon." Spike Witwicky remains tense and square-jawed, seeing it best to leave that certain explanation to Andi. He spares Sam a knowing look. Andi Lassiter crosses her arms and proves she's got chronic smart-aleck disorder by answering in a very snarky manner that Spike and maybe Sam will both pick up on. Whether or not Smokestack will...that remains to be seen. "They're made from Play-Doh and Legos, powered by rainbows and unicorn farts." The locomotive remains silent for a few seconds, then speaks calmly. “Sarcasm is an understandable response. It is also a pointless one. The information I seek is not of great tactical value. Your continued lives and the existence of this air base are assets that are worth more than your defiance. I am an unknown entity, whose patience you do not know the extent of. Judge the risks and benefits and act accordingly.” "Andi," Spike grates through something of a smile. "Do you /want/ to get charbroiled?" Ever the diplomat, he steps forward, expression turning hard. "Exo suits are of our own technology, something we take pride in. Some are indeed inspired by Transformers..." This information alone wouldn't likely help Decepticons in their endeavors, but Spike decides against telling the large mech. Sam doesn't seem to give any thought to Andi's words, preferring to gaze rather cooly up at Smokestack's train engine form. "Wish to view assembly? You will learn all you ever will." Odd phrasing, but slightly stilted. His head turns slightly to indicate the open hangar door. Andi Lassiter lets Spike tell this Decepticon whatever he wants. She was not worried about being sarcastic at the mech because if he had really wanted to charbroil someone he would have done so already. But whatever. He expression continues to make it clear that she'd rather Smokestack take a long walk off of a short plank. A low snort heaves black smoke from his stacks, headlamp flickering as he addresses Sam. “If you hired a bounty hunter, would you tell them ‘Here, I will give you exactly what you deserve’ before you tried to kill them? You speak like a bad villain about to execute someone.” Dismissing the woman as useless for the time being, Smokestack turns his attention back to Spike. “My interest is not in the most efficient way to fight your suits. My interest is in how long your technological civilisation has before it is completely wiped out. To be followed by your race.” Sam doesn't react. "Apologies. Language improficiency." He shrugs. Spike Witwicky gives Sam a good long look before turning back to Smokestack. "I should hope it is to never be wiped out, good sir. We are only advancing," he adds with a grin, "Thanks to people like Andi. We strive to create, rather than destroy." This last bit he emphasizes with a raised brow. Andi Lassiter just keeps looking up at Smokestack with a level if not friendly gaze. Let's see how he deals with THAT. She does after a moment spare a glance back at the hangar bay that's standing open with a vehicle somewhat close to the entryway. “No. Your civilisation is already beginning to fall, and your suits are the most obvious sign.” Smokestack said in a low rumble without any particular heat. “Cybertronian technology is more advanced than yours, by every significant measure. Consider your own history. What has happened when two civilisations meet with different levels of technology?” If Smokestack had a head at the moment, he would have shaken it. “By seeing the technology we have made, you are trying to copy it. By seeing that we have control of gravity, you will seek it, and sacrifice whatever path your civilisation would have taken on its own. You are cargo cultists, building toys in the shape of superior technology because you desire the power of it, the size and strength. These suits of yours are toy transformers.” Andi Lassiter says, "Do you really think so? Then Google 'bio-steel' and tell me how THAT is Cybertronian in origin." Spike Witwicky finally folds his arms. This is certainly a mech that has an affinity for either technology or debate. Or both. "You came all this way to lecture us about our imminent demise? Let's just cut to the chase... is there something physical you want?" Sam narrows his gaze up at Smokestack. "And society that subsists on energy output of other civilizations? This planet is not.. 'cargo cult.' Clever, seizes opportunity to advance, adapt, evolve. You.. acquire resources, technology by force. Subjugate populations. Development stagnant. You are parasites, not conquerors." A low laugh vibrated through the heavy iron plates. “I do not expect you to hand over one of your toys without a fight. I came here for my own interest. I prize technological distinctiveness, I am interested in this world. However, your current strategy will be your undoing. The more exposure to our technology, be it my faction or the other, the more your distinctiveness will be devoured by ours. Followed by your biological distinctiveness. Headmaster technology already exists. I expect it to be improved. Do you realise the hunger we have unleashed? We are functionally immortal. I alone have outlived the earliest ancestor species of your race more than twice over. Your technology will merge with ours, then you will develop your cybernetics until you merge with the suits you make, and your last organic vestiges will die unmourned. In one thousand years, no more, there will be nothing left of your distinctiveness save a subgroup of transformers with odd habits.” Smokestack drew himself up, clanging resonantly like a huge bell as he transformed in preparation to depart. “I have learned what little I expected to from you. Sever ties with the Autobots. Negotiate a surrender with us that leaves you to police yourselves, and have us leave this planet. I see no other path to stop the process that has begun.” Were Spike any sort of philospher, Smokestack's speech would surely depress him, but as it were, he lives in the now, and he's heard all manners of projected future predictions, from every sort of nut and critic and 'expert'. Merging with cybernetics does sound rather interesting, though! Spike looks up up up... with a blank expression. "That all?" Sam forces a smile at Smokestack. "Have things you do not." Stealth is most definitely not Fanfare's strong point. In fact, he's about as hard to miss as an outdoor Queen Concert. And today of days, those who recognise his engine would know his approach, and others would find a distant rumbling sound like monotonous thunder - or perhaps a constant waterfall - slowly increasing from the south, undertoned with a thumping pass of AC/DC's 'Thunderstruck' And then he comes into view, all one hundred and thirty feet of tooth grinning pink. Deep set red optics turn up towards the garish pink aircraft and a faint expression of irritation crosses Smokestack’s now visible face. Antigravity units within the soot coloured machine power up and his broad, train wheel and front guard feet slowly leave the ground. His lip curls faintly at Spike’s blank look and he says finally “Our technology reached a dead end more then ten million years ago. Our civil war has torn apart our home world. Consider carefully before you guide your own civilisation down the path we have taken.” Accelerating upwards and away on a perpendicular course to the plane’s approach, the heavy Decepticon curves away from the airfield leaving a slowly dissipating trail of soot and smoke in his wake. "Hn," is all Spike can think to say as Smokestack departs. coast around and make sure he finds his way out of our airspace, please. The Decepticon has indeed given Spike some brooding thoughts, in the least. His position calls for a lot of responsibility, which involves thoughts and plans for the future, whether he likes it or not. The Screaming Mimi transformer tips a wing as he turns to do just that, soaring right overhead as he moves to ensure the Decepticon was long gone... of course, most Decepticons could likely pace him easily, but he was going to try regardless tae be clear